


An Open Mind

by littlewonder



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Culture, Body Language, Emotions, Language Barrier, Languages and Linguistics, Literature, Love Confessions, M/M, Subtext, Talking, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22598152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlewonder/pseuds/littlewonder
Summary: The universal translator doesn't work for text. That makes it difficult for Garak and Bashir to do their lunchtime debates over literature from each others' cultures. So they teach each other their language.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 3
Kudos: 121
Collections: The Babel Trek Open Project





	An Open Mind

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know much Kardasi, personally, so I had to use the [English-Kardasi dictionary](https://cardassianlanguage.tumblr.com/post/165952398108/english-kardasi-dictionary-version-061) that was compiled over at the cardassianlanguage tumblr.
> 
> Also, I took one of the the [prompts](https://babeltrekopenproject.tumblr.com/post/189943165440/prompts-list) listed at Babel Trek's tumblr:
> 
> 6\. Texts are not translated

_Garak_ , Julian complained over communicator, _this novel is in the original_ Kardasi _!_

_Well, of course it is, doctor_ , answered Garak. _All Cardassian novels are written in Kardasi._

_Well, I can’t_ read _Kardasi_ , said Julian. _Shouldn’t the universal translator have translated it?_

_It seems it doesn’t do text_ , said Garak. _My universal translator has also not translated the human novel you gave me. Luckily, there’s plenty in the station’s language database to help me translate it._

_Well, there isn’t much in it about Kardasi._

_What a terrible oversight_ , said Garak. _Almost as if the Federation doesn’t want its citizens learning the language of an enemy. That’s hardly the open-minded organisation you described to me._

_Garak, if it isn’t in the database, it’s probably because Federation knowledge of Kardasi is limited._

_Well―_

_Please, just come over and teach me._

There was crackling on the other end. Silence. 

_Garak?_

_I’m coming._

\---

Garak had to admit, as he bookmarked the page on his Padd and left his quarters, humans had a certain reputation for being blunt; they had a tendency to say exactly what they meant. Certainly, this was true of Bashir. No patience for a late night debate, just ‘come over’. 

He would’ve complained, but the doctor had sounded so needy, so desperate, and how could Garak say no? He had wanted Bashir for long enough, that he wasn’t going to turn him down now that he had asked.

Arriving at Bashir’s quarters, he rang the chime. Bashir opened the door. Garak let himself inside.

Looking around at the room, Garak already felt as though he were in Bashir’s intimate space. Then, he turned around, and looked at the doctor.

“You didn’t have to come straight away,” said Bashir.

“You asked me to.” 

"No, I didn’t.”

Garak looked at Bashir, so stiff and formal. “Have you changed your mind, doctor? Do you not want me here after all?” 

“No, I just ―” 

“Then you should not retract your invitation. You wanted me here, and here I am.” 

“It’s the middle of the night.” 

“It was the middle of the night when you called me.” 

“I ― I couldn’t stop myself. It was driving me mad, that you would give me a book I couldn’t read.” 

“My dear, if you want to read it, have an open mind, and let me teach you.” 

Bashir hesitated. “I have work in the morning.” 

“What other time have you got to learn this?” 

Bashir said nothing.

“That’s what I thought.” 

“Alright, Garak,” said Bashir, “where shall we start? Are you going to teach me the Cardassian alphabet?” 

“To learn the Cardassian language, you have to learn not just to read, but to speak. We’ll have to start there before I can teach you to read in Kardasi.” 

The first thing he taught Julian was the basic sounds of the language, which he paired with particular words in Kardasi.

“The first thing you need to understand about Kardasi: every subtle nuance of the tongue changes the meaning of words,” said Garak. “For example, here where it says, ‘Chek nuka darm ha'Kardasi,’ meaning ‘What we owe as Cardassians,’ this could have any number of meanings, depending on intonation. A rise on the first ‘a’ in ‘Kardasi,’ for example, could indicate individual Cardassians, whereas a rise on the ‘i’ could indicate the Cardassian race.”

“What about the second ‘a’?” 

“The Cardassian language,” explained Garak.

“What does any of this have to do with reading Kardasi?” asked Bashir. “I can’t hear any of this on the screen.” 

“You read it from context.” 

“How? There are no indications in the writing. No accent marks, no capitalisation, no italics.” 

“My dear, it isn’t enough to learn the technical elements of a language; you must learn the culture, too. When you read this line, if you know nothing about Cardassian culture, you can’t possibly imagine the intent. It’s only when you learn the culture that it becomes apparent.” 

“It sounds complicated,” said Bashir. 

“Everything Cardassian is,” said Garak, “but that doesn’t mean it’s not worthwhile. There’s a certain joy in mastering complication that is inherently Cardassian. In time, even you may understand it.” 

Bashir didn’t need time to understand it, though. He may only be human, but his parents had taken away from him the joy of achieving something through hard work when they augmented him. Since then, he took great pleasure in earning knowledge, rather than just having it put there.

He had never appreciated before that the universal translator had been doing exactly this for most of his life; allowing him to take the shortcut, knowing but not understanding.

Since that night, Garak had made a regular habit of these late night study sessions with Bashir, teaching him first to speak, then to read. And even though Bashir had started out being annoyed by these late-night interruptions, he’d couldn’t help now but to smile just thinking about it. It really was quite… sweet of Garak, helping him out so much.

Garak could really be infuriating sometimes, but it was more than that. Bashir felt a strange sort of… aggravated fondness for the Cardassian. 

“Word is around the station that you and Garak are having an affair.” 

Bashir looked up at Quark, who had stopped by his table. “That’s ridiculous.” 

“Is it? Then why has he been coming to your quarters late at night? Several witnesses have seen it.” 

“You and your ‘several witnesses’ should mind your own business.” 

“Come on, tell me. I can clear your name…”

Bashir hesitated. “He’s been teaching me Kardasi.” 

“What’s he been doing that for?” 

“He and I have just started reading novels from each others’ cultures. But the universal translator doesn’t work on text.” 

“What a shame,” said Quark flatly, sounding disappointed.

As Quark walked away, Bashir was reminded of something Garak had said when they’d first met: “An open mind: the essence of intellect.” Quark certainly had no intellect, if his attitude was any indication, but Bashir did; it takes a hugely open mind to learn a new language solely for the purpose of a lunchtime debate over literature.

It was slow going, but once a week they were each able to discuss a chapter of the books they’d given each other to read.

Most of the readings, though, were done during the station’s night cycle, in Bashir’s quarters. Garak had taken to bringing his human novel along, and allowing Bashir to return the favour and lecturing him about his own mother tongue.

By now, both of them were at a basic reading level of Kardasi and Standard, respectively. What they couldn’t read, the other would fill in for them.

“This is confusing,” said Bashir one night, frustrated that he just couldn’t understand this latest passage, and what it really meant.

“It takes time,” said Garak. “Kardasi is more of a verbal language; we Cardassians love to talk. One generally writes when one has something to hide, or when one wants to convey information that can’t be conveyed from ear to ear.” 

“That explains your penchant for literature,” said Bashir. “It seems that you hide everything.” 

“On the contrary, Doctor,” said Garak. “I’m an open book, if you just take the time to _listen_.” 

“Is this going to be another lesson?” 

“The thing you must understand about us Cardassians, doctor, is that we are very perceptive to each other, and we have a very strong sense of duty. Apart from our spoken language, we also have ‘second tongue’ ― what you humans would call body language, as well as ‘third tongue’ ― our sensitivity to pitch, wavering, and other emotional variations in the way we speak. Which is why it’s so important to understand even the subtlest nuances in the way we use language. Talking is like playing Kotra; always trying to outmanoeuvre the other, hide our intentions, and win the game. 

“Depending on who we are talking to, the game changes. We are duty-bound to crush our enemies, and we are equally duty-bound to help our friends. But either way, we seek to win, and take pleasure in the struggle. We are always striving to improve.” 

“And because you like me, you came to help.” 

“And because I take great pleasure in our debates, doctor. The truth is, you make me better. These lunchtime debates make me sharper, and the study of Standard has opened my mind. New perspectives, doctor, is what allows intellectual growth. I am coming to understand you more, and with that understanding, I grow my argument.” 

“Is that all you have learned?” 

"What do you mean, doctor?” 

That same vulnerability he had heard that night when Bashir had asked him over was now reflected on his face.

“Is there no part of your heart that feels more connected to mine, after studying my language?”

“Oh, doctor…” said Garak. “More than is appropriate.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Bashir.

“You are human; I am Cardassian. I am already an exile; if I were to fall for you, I would have no chance of ever returning some day.” 

“Because the State wouldn’t allow it.” 

“Exactly.” 

“Garak, as a man with the open mind of an intellectual, I ask you to consider what you’re saying. You give up love, for barest chance of returning to a world that hates you…” 

“ _My_ world, doctor.” 

“…when you have a chance of finding acceptance, and love, right here.” 

Garak looked at Bashir. He could see the love in his eyes. 

Then he cast his glance sideways, to the Padd where Bashir had _The Never-Ending Sacrifice_ open.

“Read the scene again.” 

Bashir glanced at the Padd, then picked it up and read it silently, muttering some of the words under his breath.

Finally, he looked up at Garak again. 

“The character’s heroism arises from sacrifice,” said Garak. “He gives up what he desperately wants, for what his State needs. It’s heart-wrenching, but it’s _important_. Loyalty at any price. It’s my _home_.” 

For a moment, Julian just stared at him. “That’s why you love this book so much,” he said. “This is what you think you must do, and that’s why your heart is breaking.” 

Garak didn’t need to say anything. It was written all over his face.

“But you don’t have to be this way,” said Bashir. “You could choose not to sacrifice yourself.” 

“And betray Cardassia? That would be incredibly selfish of me. You still don’t see it, do you, doctor? My duty is clear.” 

“But you’re an outsider, an exile,” said Bashir.

“Could you turn your back on your planet, even after they’d treated you terribly? Could you stop loving everything you once knew, even after seeing the rest of the universe?” 

“No,” said Bashir.

“No,” repeated Garak. “You couldn’t. Not even then.” 

Julian’s heart was breaking. If he had read _A Never-Ending Sacrifice_ in Standard, he wouldn’t have understood it. But because of his intellect, because of his open mind, he had opened his heart, too, to the Cardassian mind ― to the character on the page, and to Garak.

It was the bleakest heart he’d ever felt. 

But he didn’t feel regret. Feeling your emotions is part of being alive. Bashir was never going to regret having an open mind, or an open heart.

Garak, on the other hand, he had doubts about.

“I know it hurts,” said Bashir. “But whatever happens in the future, whatever you decide, it hasn’t happened yet. You can’t know what the future holds, even if every book you read ends only one way. There are other choices. We’re not always doomed to live out the same sacrifice. Maybe something better is in store for you.” 

“I’ve lived through too many disappointments to believe in that, doctor. If I was a good Cardassian, I would do my duty. And despite everything, I think I still can be.” 

“It’s not selfish to believe you can have more for yourself. Your life has value, too, Garak.” 

Garak looked at him. “Thank you, doctor.” 

But what he actually thought about what Bashir had said, it was hard to tell. It was just like Garak to hide this, too.

Perhaps one day, he would open his heart completely to Bashir. Until then, he resigned himself to not knowing.


End file.
